


the horizon tries (but it's just not as kind on the eyes)

by blxxm



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Someone had to write this, and im so in love with all of them, especially holtzmann, okay so sorry but i dived headfirst into this ship, sorry Mum, sorry god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:29:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7612813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blxxm/pseuds/blxxm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erin lets her draw all kinds of thoughts and ideas on her skin, lets her scribble things that later get translated to paper, lets her just aimlessly draw the Fibonacci spiral and tells her that she missed a spot later on with a giggle that Jillian is sure she hears in her head.<br/>Jillian nods because she thinks she and Erin are this close to being happy, the only thing stopping them from attaining it completely is the fact that they haven’t actually met yet.<br/>-<br/>(or, the soulmate au nobody asked for)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the horizon tries (but it's just not as kind on the eyes)

Erin’s mother had told her about soulmates when she was just six years old, rolled up the sleeve of her blouse and Erin saw it - the drawing of a rabbit her father had done only moments ago, on his own arm.

Erin had asked how it worked, but her mother couldn’t answer. She shrugged and said love can’t be explained, and Erin had a problem with that, if only small.

Things were  _ meant _ to be explained, everything had a reason to be. Plants exist so animals can eat, animals exist so people can eat, people exist so plants can breathe.

So for this, for something as important as soulmates, there had to be an answer.

Erin asks her mother when things will start showing up on her skin, if it hurts, if it burns, if her soulmate will get anything from her, if her soulmate is a girl or a boy.

Her mother answers all her questions, pauses after each one to make sure she’s clear. Things will start showing up on her skin when her soulmate decides to draw on themselves - no, it doesn’t hurt or burn, sometimes it tickles - she can draw on herself and her soulmate will receive it. She won't know if her soulmate is a girl or a boy until they tell her, or until they meet.

That seems to satisfy her enough for one night, and her mother smiles at her and starts cooking dinner, and her father shakes his head and pats her hair, tells her to never stop asking questions.

They eat dinner as a family, her father talks of work and her mother talks of the news, and Erin talks about school and how there’s this one girl with wild hair who talks too quick and her mother smiles and tells her to eat her vegetables.

Erin goes to bed with a full tummy and a pen she stole from her father’s study, hides it under her pyjama shirt when she kisses her parents goodnight.

When the house is quiet except for the footsteps she always hears in the hallways, Erin whips out the pen, pushes it to her skin.

_ My name is Erin _ , she writes. She tries to think of something more to say, something that will make her soulmate write back, something that will make the scary monsters go away.

_ I can see ghosts. _

 

//

 

Erin wakes up the next morning, the ink on her arm smudged so she washes it off in the sink. She puts her father’s pen back where she found it, hears her mother calling her down for breakfast so she goes, tiptoes down the stairs and smiles weakly at her parents.

Her mother asks her what the matter is, and she just shakes her head.

“Nightmare.” She says. Footsteps and laughs and deep voices is what she means,  _ ghosts _ is what she means.

“It’s okay,” her father tells her, “monsters aren’t real, they can’t get you when you’re awake.”

Erin thinks that might be the problem, they  _ do _ get her when she’s awake. They make sure she stays awake, that she never sleeps.

She nods at her father, puts on a brave face.

Everyone at school ignores her, they think she’s crazy. She writes that down, writes it on her arm in big block letters in class and the teacher reprimands her, tells her to go to the bathroom to clean it off.

She’s finished washing up when her arm itches. Looking down, just under where her writing was, she sees it: messy scrawl, something slowly turning into a sentence.

_ Not crazy _ , it says. She waits, nearly giggles at the feeling in her chest.  _ I believe you _ .

 

//

 

It doesn't matter if her soulmate believes her, because her parents don't. They send her to someone, a woman with stiff posture and a twang in her voice. Her eyebrows point into a permanent frown and Erin would tell her to smile if she thought it wouldn't get her in trouble.

The woman asks her why she thinks ghosts are real, asks if her parents fight, even makes her play with dolls as if they were her family.

Erin thinks it's all pretty silly, dolls are dolls and ghosts are ghosts. Her parents aren’t mean, they don’t hate each other.

Erin starts to think the problem isn’t her family or the ghosts, but her.

And once she’s thought it, she doesn’t stop thinking it.

 

//

 

She tries to stay away from writing on herself, only because her father tells her off for stealing his pens, and her mother tells her off for poisoning her skin. But it’s her seventh birthday, and she wants to make sure her soulmate remembers, because they’re going to have to spend their life together at some point.

_ It's my birthday today _ , she writes, keeps herself hidden under the covers of her bed with a flashlight just in case her parents hear, in case the ghosts see.

She waits, not long though, her arm tingling and she smiles ear to ear.

_ Happy birthday Erin _ , and there’s little balloons, even tiny little stars and what she thinks is saturn. She smiles so wide that it hurts, forgets that there’s monsters under her bed and waiting for her in the closet. She forgets to turn the flashlight off and her father will tell her off in the morning but right now that doesn’t really matter.

 

* * *

Jillian doesn’t tell her parents about the writing on her arm, thankful her soulmate washes off her messages almost as soon as she’s written them. It’s summer right now, so it’s pretty hard to cover any messages up.

She’s nine years old and her parents tell her that soulmates aren’t real, that you don’t have to love the person who scribbles on your arm. Her mother writes groceries on the back of her palm and nothing shows up on her father’s, and her father’s reminders never show up on her mother.

Jillian thinks maybe they’re lucky that they love each other even though they aren’t soulmates, sometimes she thinks they’re crazy.

The thing is, Jillian kind of already loves Erin. Or at least, loves her as much as she can right now.

She draws ideas on herself all the time, inventions of things she might never make but hopes to, she draws rockets and wrenches and she thinks that that’s enough for now, she doesn’t have to draw a time machine just yet - not on her skin anyway, because she doesn’t want to freak Erin out.

She’s been told she’s too fast for her own good, in mind, speech, and actions. She can’t help it, drawing and thinking and inventing keep her hands busy, keep her focused. There’s a calm insanity in it and she loves it.

She tells Erin this one day in class, doodles it on her thigh, high enough that her shorts cover it.

_ Not crazy _ , it says back, and Jillian thinks her stomach might fall out of her.

 

//

 

They don’t say a lot to each other, if Jillian is honest. Actually, after she wishes Erin a happy ninth birthday and Erin thanks her, Erin sort of goes missing.

Not that she was super there to begin with, but there was always a good morning and goodnight message, always little pictures of flowers and atoms and ghosts that look like they’re covered in sheets. 

Jillian liked those the most, she thinks Erin drew them when she was scared.

 

//

 

Jillian gets balloons on her collarbone or wrists each year for her birthday, a snowflake somewhere on her body for Christmas. Jillian thinks maybe Erin lives in a house where pens aren’t allowed, or where pens aren’t even a thing, because Jillian is just constantly drawing and it seems baffling almost to think of it any other way.

She’s biting the edge of her pen, flicks her tongue over the cap while she waits for her watch to count down to midnight. She’d already drawn things for Erin, pictures of ghosts being caught in nets and smiley faces and love hearts and the flux capacitor, but no balloons yet.

Her watch ticks over, and she starts.

Erin always managed to thank her even without pens, and sometimes Jillian got worried because the thanks were red raw as if they were scratched on.

This year, Erin thanks her with a sharpie, thick and black and coarse and Jillian wishes she’d thought of that because her balloons have never looked so good.

_ Sorry for not speaking much _ , it says on her other arm, and Jillian knows there’s more to come because the veins in her arm are pulsing and she feels as if Erin is sitting next to her while she writes.

_ I’ve been trying to be normal, it’s not working. _

Jillian’s chest is tight, an anvil dropped onto her ribs.  _ You don’t need to be normal. _

She waits, rushes to the bathroom to take off her shirt so she can see more, write more.

_ I try not to notice the ghosts, people still think I’m crazy. You’re the only one who believes me. Why do you believe me? _

Jillian thinks about it, licks her lips and readjusts her glasses,  _ Because you’re the only person who listens. I believe you because you believe me. _

She draws while she waits, little jetpacks and the hazmat sign, loves that Erin never tells her not to draw these things, loves that Erin already understands her.

_ Being twelve already sucks. _

And Jillian cackles so hard that she hits her knees on the edge of the bathtub.

 

* * *

Erin tells her parents that the ghosts were never real, that she made them up. They seem relieved, so the lie doesn’t taste as bitter when she swallows it like a lump.

She has a friend now, at least. Well, one friend who isn’t Jillian.

She’s thirteen and she tells her parents that she doesn’t believe in ghosts anymore, and at school her and Abby talk about everything she’d heard and seen the night before, and Abby hangs onto every word and believes her and it's just so  _ nice _ .

It’s so nice that Erin thinks she can tell Abby anything, so she tells her about Jillian.

“Your soulmate is a girl?” Abby asks, mouth forming an ‘O ‘and Erin nods, prays that Abby won't leave her in the dust, hopes that this won’t be one too many weird things about her. “Huh, cool. Have you met her yet?”

And Erin hugs Abby, thanks her, and Abby tells her to stop being a sap and to get on with it. Tells her she better meet her soulmate soon because she’s just going to be deprived otherwise.

Erin asks what she means and Abby just laughs under her breath, because Abby is six months older than her and knows more about the world than she does right now.

 

//

 

Erin’s first kiss is not with Jillian.

Not that she thought it would be. Statistically speaking, people don’t meet their soulmates until their late teens at the very earliest, and Erin was fourteen and she was sick of not being kissed. So when she’s at a party with Abby and a few others and they play spin the bottle, she’s not opposed to kissing the boy with shaggy dark hair and dull eyes.

It’s not awful, but it’s not fantastic. She didn’t think it would be. Kisses are just that, their reason for being simply hinges upon the fact that people wish to show affection, feel comfort, or get it out of the way. It was clear which of the three Erin was going for.

She feels a little bad about it, wonders what it would’ve been like if it  _ was _ Jillian. She’s sure that Jillian’s already had her first kiss, because when she asked about it Jillian had nothing more to say than smart remarks and ellipses.

She tells Jillian that night, writes it messily on the back of her palm, writes an apology a few minutes later when she doesn’t get a reply.

_ Don’t be sorry _ , and Erin is almost surprised with how Jillian was taking it, because Jillian was always so flirty and sometimes a little jealous and -  _ I’m still better than whoever it was, just you wait. _

Nevermind, Erin wasn’t surprised at all.

 

* * *

Jillian’s parents are very kind when she comes out to them, tell her that they’re happy as long as she’s safe, as long as she’s happy. They ask her if she has a girlfriend, and she tells them not yet, she’s only sixteen.

Her father takes this as a sign that she has someone in mind, tells her all the ways to a woman’s heart. There’s a lot to remember, and she doesn’t think she catches all of it.

Her mother rests a hand on her shoulder when her father goes back to reading the newspaper, leans down a little so only they can hear.

“A little humour goes a long way, Jill,” her mother tells her, “just make sure they never stop you from being you. Okay, sweetie?”

Jillian nods because she thinks she knows what her mother means. Because Erin lets her draw all kinds of thoughts and ideas on her skin, lets her scribble things that later get translated to paper, lets her just aimlessly draw the Fibonacci spiral and tells her that she missed a spot later on with a giggle that Jillian is sure she hears in her head.

Jillian nods because she thinks she and Erin are  _ this _ close to being happy, the only thing stopping them from attaining it completely is the fact that they haven’t actually met yet.

 

//

 

Jillian flirts with Erin a lot, makes sure she can make Erin laugh even if they’re on other sides of the country, maybe even the world. Sometimes she gets a reply, sometimes she just gets a  _ stop it, i'm in class _ .

Her favourites are when Erin crosses it out, because she knows it's not rejection. She’s timed it right after all these years, she knows when Erin sits to have dinner with her family. 

Sometimes in the dead of night, Jillian will feel the inside of her thigh tingle - sometimes burn, but in a good way. And there will be Erin’s elegant scrawl, loopy and symmetrical and teasing.

_ This is for what you said while I was talking about college with my mother. _

Jillian laughs, writes back on her arm because she’s not that cruel.

_ Not gonna lie, kinda feels like it was worth it. _

And Jillian knows that they’re both seventeen, and that this is a dangerous game that probably and most definitely shouldn’t be played. Yet here they are, and Jillian feels something warm and tight in the pit of her stomach when the writing gets higher.

_ Good to know _ , Jillian feels like lightning, all sparks and electricity and undeniable reckoning.  _ Future reference. Goodnight, Jillian. Sweet dreams. _

Jillian replies; sharp, quick letters run riot on her skin and she drops the pen to her bedside table and absolutely  _ seethes _ at the feeling.

Her dreams aren’t sweet. But they are of Erin.

 

//

 

Jillian is working on her first proper invention when Erin tells her she got into college. She drops it, and it bruises her toenail for at least three weeks but she doesn’t care.

Her mother, however, does care about the curtains it set on fire.

She tells her mother that she’ll help her hang the new ones, but right now she has to talk to Erin.

“Who’s Erin?” Her mother asks, and it's then that Jillian realises she’d kept Erin secret for that long. Like she was her own special something, something to be kept from her parents because they thought soulmates were bogus.

“My girlfriend,” she says, because that’s easier than soulmate. There’s less weight to it, less commitment, as if hers and Erin’s handwriting wasn't hidden under their clothing, as if their contract wasn’t binded by undertones of affection and promise. “She just got into college.”

“I didn’t hear the phone ring,” her mother glances over to the line she has in her room, sees the receiver not hung. “You  _ do _ always forget to hang up, I suppose.”

“Uh, yeah,” she twirls the screwdriver around her fingers. “Sorry about the curtains, I got excited.”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” her mother balls the burned rags into her arms, starts whistling. “Do tell your little girlfriend we want to meet her, though. Okay?”

And that’s how Jillian asks to meet Erin for the first time.

 

* * *

Erin is almost one-hundred-percent sure she chokes on her fries when she reads that Jillian needs to meet her.

Abby gets her to cough up the chewed potatoes, laughs at the gunky remains of it on her napkin. She claps Erin on the back, smiles.

“Finally, I thought she’d never ask.”

Erin wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, “You talk about her like you know her.”

“Maybe I do.” Abby says, imitates a ghost groan and laughs when Erin throws a pickle slice at her.

“I don’t even know where she lives,” she rests her cheek in her palm. “I don’t even know her last name.”

Abby nudges her shoulder, “I have a feeling I do.”

 

//

 

They’re hunched over a phone book, a handful of change and Erin is racking her brain with how Abby even began to think like this.

“I have a theory, don’t freak out.”

Erin furrows her brow, “What?”

“Okay, so, you say that Jillian draws some weird shit, right? Like, weird science shit. And that’s just another reason your nerdy ass is in love with her, yes?”

Erin crosses her arm, kicks the toe of her foot into the pavement. “What’s your point?”

Abby smiles. “In all my eighteen and a half years, I’ve only seen one Jillian who draws like that.”

 

* * *

The one time Jillian hangs up her phone, it rings.

She answers, hears a high but gruff voice on the other end of the line, knows it immediately.

“Abby?”

“Holtzmann, hey,” she can hear cars, deduces that she’s probably outside that rotten diner she’s yet to go to. “You know those cute little ghost catching machines you draw on your arms, for that girl you have a thing for?”

She clears her throat, prays her mother isn’t on the kitchen phone to hear this.

“What about her?”

There’s scuffling, a muffled argument Jillian can barely make out, a victorious laugh and a defeated sigh before,

“Hello?”

And Jillian is pretty sure her heart is in her throat, her stomach somewhere at her knees, she’s almost certain that neither of those are scientifically possible but.

“Hi,” she says lamely. The voice is clear and shaken with nerves and a little cracked on the edges. But it’s  _ her _ . “Who is this?”

“Erin Gilbert,” the voice says back. And it’s not how Jillian wanted them to meet, it’s certainly  _ not _ what she’ll tell their kids if they ever have them. “You’re Jillian.”

She shrugs, “Most people call me Holtzmann, or Holtz, or - whatever.”

“Pretty sure I’ve always called you Jillian.”

Jillian smiles, her cheeks cover part of her vision and she feels like she could absolutely radiate light.

“Yeah, you have.”

 

//

 

Turns out, Erin only lives a fifteen minute walk away from her house, a five minute drive from their high school, and a seven minute bike ride from their nearest park.

Jillian makes sure to invite Erin to the park, they’re always at school and she should probably see her face before inviting her home.

Plus, Jillian remembers that Erin used to draw flowers just above her kneecaps.

The moment Jillian sees Erin idle on the swingset, hair windswept and skirt billowing. Well, Jillian forgets about everything she’s ever learned. Protons and electrons and neutrons and the distance from the earth to the sun and the amount of electricity it takes to power thirty two lightbulbs - it’s gone, all of it.

“Come here often?” She asks, hopes her voice was as low and devilishly gravelly as when she had practiced it. Probably not.

And Erin grins at her when they lock eyes, and Jillian thinks Erin feels the same thing.

Jillian expected a hello, maybe even an awkward handshake.

Instead, Erin launches herself at her, arms around her neck and Jillian stumbles back before catching her footing on the grass. Her arms stay outstretched, unsure, until Erin buries her nose into the crook of her neck and she thinks it's okay to hug her back, winds her arms around Erin’s waist.

“You smell like smoke.” Erin’s lips are almost pressing to her pulse point, and Jillian tries to remember how to breathe.

“Uh, yeah,” she shrugs, feels wind hit her sides when Erin pulls away to look at her. “Lab mishap, sometimes things go boom.”

“You have a lab?”

“Well, no,” she feels her face heat up, eighteen years of smooth talking via handwriting clearly not translating to at least a minutes worth of action. “It’s just my room, but I’ll have a lab someday.”

“Jillian,” Erin says it almost like a game, rolls it on her tongue like she’s never said it out loud. “You’re cute. You have beautiful eyes.”

Jillian nearly chokes on air, feels her flush spread to her ears and chest. She’s been complimented by girls, sure. She’s kissed girls and touched girls and maybe even liked a girl that wasn't Erin. But this  _ was  _ Erin, and that made all the difference.

“Thank you,” she fiddles with her fingers, licks the inside of her cheek. “You have a face well within the golden ratio.”

Erin laughs. It’s not mocking or malice, it’s joy. Pure, unadulterated joy at Jillian’s compliment.

She leans up, kisses Jillian’s cheek, and Jillian feels her knees wobble.

“For someone who’s been flirting dangerously with their handwriting for the past five years, you’re a little less intimidating than I imagined.”

She takes Erin’s hand, starts to walk towards the pathway.

“Hopefully I live up to some expectations.”

She looks at Erin, sees her eyes squint as she ponders.

“I’d say you exceeded all of them.”

 

//

 

Jillian takes her to the treehouse in her backyard, forgets to mention that her parents aren’t home and hopes that when Erin finds out she won’t think she planned this.

She only half-planned, half-hoped her parents wouldn’t be home. Not because she was expecting anything, but because she wants Erin all to herself before her mother inevitably loves her more than she does already.

Jillian climbs up first, wooden rung after rung to make sure nothing is molded and old, snags her jeans on a nail but doesn’t mind - she’s pretty sure ripped knees are a thing right now anyways.

She helps Erin in, holds both her hands while she crawls into the room. It’s a little smaller with two people in it, Jillian realises, not something she thought about when it was just her and her gadgets.

“What are all these?” Erin asks, traces her fingers along sketches and blueprints and barely there prototypes.

“I invent stuff,” she says with a tilt of her head, it’s not really a big deal. “I’ve been working on one thing for a really long time, but I can’t get it right just yet.”

Erin nods, sees the repeated pictures, the modified scrap metal.

“Is it the same thing you’ve been scribbling down parts for on my arm?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” she sits, legs outstretched, they almost touch the other side of the tree house if she leans down against the wall enough. “It’s sort of for you, though, if that’s any consolation.”

Erin crawls into her space, “Are you serious?”

She nods, swallows the lump in her throat and tries to emulate the bravado she’s had in her writing.

“I’ve been trying to make a, uh, a ghost-catcher type thing,” she says, leans up a little higher against the wall. “I know you say you don’t believe in them anymore, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to have when we live together or whatever.”

“We’re going to live together?”

“Shit, that’s, no, that’s not what I meant?” Her hands scramble for explanation, kinetic energy in dead air, grasping for words. “I mean, you know, we’re  _ technically _ soulmates, so I thought living together was bound to happen, you know. Of course, if you’re not actually into me you could just say so, or if you never want to live with me even though you are into me that’s cool, too - I know I take up a lot of space, and I tend to set things on fire a fair bit but-”

Seems that all it takes for her to find the right words is for Erin to shut her up completely.

 

* * *

_ This _ , Erin thinks,  _ this _ is what a first kiss is meant to feel like.

She’s leaning up to Jillian, into Jillian, hands firmly planted into the ground because she’s scared of what they’ll do if she moves. She doesn’t want to ruin this, refuses to shatter this moment because she slips or accidentally hits Jillian in the chest.

Jillian’s hands are still mid-air, she’s pretty sure, but they’re not for long. Jillian’s mouth stops rambling and breaks out into a smile so wide that their teeth  _ clack _ against each other, her hands coming up to cup Erin’s cheeks and she giggles out a ‘ _ sorry _ ’ before kissing her again.

It’s different this time, but not really. It’s better, confident. Jillian kisses with purpose, kisses Erin until she feels absolutely raw inside out, kisses Erin until Erin is writhing to sit in her lap.

Erin hasn't kissed many people, and she’s pretty sure that her heart is hammering outside of her chest, and that it's taken a leap into the palm of Jillian’s hand.

Jillian rests her forehead against hers when she pulls away, breathes out a laugh and traces her hands down Erin’s shoulders, past her waist, rests on her hips.

“Okay, wow.”

Erin laughs, ducks her head. “Yeah.”

“Worth the wait, aren’t I?” Jillian asks, cocksure and audacious and Erin falls even further into her if possible.

“Shut up,” she kisses Jillian, for good measure, pulls away when Jillian nips her bottom lip and she tries in vain to not make a noise. “But yes, definitely.”

Somewhere, between kisses, Jillian mumbles,

“For the record: you are, too.”

 

//

 

Erin had always wanted an explanation for soulmates, strived to find the answer as to the absolute magic behind ink going between bodies without even touching one another. Wanted to know all the reasons why all her atoms practically  _ vibrated _ whenever she thought of Jillian, had Jillian’s handwriting or drawings on her body, had  _ Jillian’s hands _ on her body.

But Erin is twenty now, and she’s in college, and she’s studying physics with a girl lying next to her in bed.

Erin is twenty, and she doesn’t question why Jillian’s hair is always so perfect, doesn’t question why Jillian talks of their future as if it isn’t already destined, doesn’t question why Jillian looks at her like an invention that’s beyond her convictions.

Erin lies in bed, with Jillian’s nose pressed into her neck, and she knows that they’re both going to be late for class, but she looks down at Jillian’s collarbone and sees a row of balloons, dusted purple by her teeth and she smiles.

Maybe not all things need an answer, sometimes things just need to  _ be _ .

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, that just happened.  
> Sorry if none of the character voices are right, I just had to get this down into a word doc because it was literally consuming me. Also, sorry about the lack of Patty, I really wanted to fit her in somewhere but none of the scenes she had worked - which sucks.  
> If you ever wanna scream about this to me on my tumblr, it's blxx-m@tumblr.com  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
